As I lay dying
by sierraholly
Summary: This is a personal story i wrote about a young girl named Weny who must face obstacles in order to find the murderer of her grandfather.


Horror Story

By: Sierra

It was September 24th 1995, my birthday, when I heard the news about my Grandfather. He had been stabbed 27 consecutive times in the stomach. When the police had showed at about 10:45 my mother opened the door and before she could even take a breath Officer Reynolds said "I'm sorry to bother you at this time but we just found your husband's father in the middle of New Comb Park". Excitedly running down the stairs to see who our company was, only to find my mother's willowing body intertwined with the coat rack gasping for the few short breathes she could find. She began to sob and sob as if it was uncontrolled, moaning and weeping for her overseas husband who hadn't yet heard the news. I walked slowly to my mother's fragile body wanting to remove the pain. As I looked up, the officer gave me a look of true compassion and utter remorse for being the one to deliver this heartbreaking news.

"_Run to me Weny!" said grandpa "ok here I come." I said as I ran enthusiastically towards my grandfather's awaiting arms. My grandpa picked me up spun me around and with great strength threw me into the lake. Swimming deeper and deeper holding my breath I opened my eyes to see his blurry figure standing above. I pressed my feet against the swampy bottom and pushed up with all my might. Like a torpedo I shot out of the water gasping for air. Grandpa pulled me out and rapped a towel around my chilled body. As I lay in his warm arms I begin to wish this day could never end._

When three long weeks passed and my father had already come home we decided to plan my grandfather's prolonged funeral. Knowing my mother and father's low tolerance for pain and hurt I knew it was to be the most love filled occasion. We decorated the funeral with white lilies and freshly cut green saw grass. On the day of the commemoration my family members from all over the United States appeared wearing their most glamorous gowns and suits. The funeral was to be an open casket and since my Grandfather was needed for experimental use it had to be quick. The ceremony lasted a little over half an hour and people began to shift their bodies in discomfort from the uneven ground. I couldn't stand to see the hospital workers take my grandfather's body back to the morgue, so I followed.

At the hospital I snuck into the clothes room and put a nursing suit over me. The elevator pulled up and I stepped in pressing the 5th floor button, the elevator descended and I stepped out to see the morgues door ajar. When I peered into the morgue, the body was slung over the metal cot, its arms folded across its chest and with a white blanket covering the cold decaying figure, its shadow began to fade as the life was drained out.

The air became frigid and I shivered at the thought of all these deceased people around me. Before I could even touch the silky fabric another nurse burst in yelling and red faced asking what I was up to. I've never ran so fast in my life. I ran to the convenient store on 8th street and bought ice cold water. Face sweaty and feet aching I emerged into the crowd looking at every face to see who my grandfather's killer could be, it seemed as though there was no one who looked like a killer. Maybe the clerk? Or the merchant? It was an impossible feat to accomplish without any real evidence, even the police didn't know. They said that the wounds were so intricate that only a true mastermind murderer could really kill that way. Whoever this man or woman was, knew they wanted a slow and painful killing because every cut was farther away from the heart than the last. I want to find them.

Father tells me every day that the police will find the murderer and incarcerate them and that I should just stop looking, but I can't seem to find the strength. I have been looking every day waiting and watching the simple movement in everyone and everything wanting to know the truth. If the truth doesn't come out soon I am sure to freak out. Tomorrow morning I will start at the edge of town and work my way to Virginia if I have to, but I _will_ find my Grandfathers murderer.

As I tip-toed through the house, making sure to be quiet so my distressed mother wouldn't wake, I grabbed my boots, sweater and bag and headed for town hall. Town halls doors were shut for the evening so I decided to check the cellar door. Sneaking my way inside the cellar was easy because Mayor Thompson leaves it open during the winter. Lurking beneath town hall in the cold, dark, smelly cellar with spiders and cobwebs hanging everywhere was hard because every move you made a new obstacle came into view.

Making my way to the file room I saw Mayor Thompsons office door ajar, which is unusual for this time of year, so I crept around the corner and peered in. The Mayor was pacing back and forth as if to remember something very important chanting "No how could this be. How could I have lost it?" I turned thinking I should run home but right as I took my step I heard a drawer slam and a woman's voice utter "Mayor it'll be alright nobody is going to figure it out."

"And if that little girl of theirs keeps on with her "investigation"?" stated Mayor Thompson

"She's just a little girl and if she does figure it out no one in their right mind would believe her"

"Just take care of it Ms. Baker"

" Ms. Baker?" I thought "Why would be talking to the Mayor? Was my own 6th grade teacher an accomplice in the murdering of my grandfather?" Drawers slammed and doors shut and Mayor Thompson stood and began making their way in the direction of where I was standing. I ran to the janitor's closet and waited until I heard the cellar door screech shut. After about five more minutes I exited the closet and once again started making my way to the file room. Inside the file room I ran my hand along the wall to find the light switch. The lights flickered on to reveal a vast array of file cabinets labeled A-Z. Since my grandfathers' last name was Johnson I headed to the J files and began to shift through each file looking for his record.

When I finally came across both my fathers and grandfathers files I pulled them out, lay them on the desk in front of me and started reading. My Grandfathers file contained stacks of newspapers, un-paid bills and an odd stack of crumpled papers written in his handwriting. Each word I read made it clear that my loving, sweet Grandfather was _not_ the man I thought he was. The papers weren't just bills and tickets they were a series of letter to and from a mysterious woman named Abigail Swanson. They were love letters. Which read:

"_My dearest Abigail, I have been away now for 3 months and each day I love you more and more. The guys and I have been shot at quite a lot but I assure you I'm alright and in one solid piece. Aby I love you very much and will soon be at your side once more."_

As the dates on the letters progressed the letters from Abigail decreased in number and most were merely my Grandfathers love letters. One letter stood out the most to me which was titled just "August 12th, 1915." In this letter his writing was more urgent. He expressed critical issues pertaining to the maraud that had been sent to Abigail's hometown of Milwaukee. This letter read:

"_Sweetest Abigail please tell me you're alright. I have tried to contact you but have had no response. I heard about the bombing in Milwaukee and immediately thought of you. I hope you're okay and I love you."_


End file.
